Memory
by Anna Greenway
Summary: An accident in the desert, a critically injured colleague, and a long wait for help.  My CSI debut


**MEMORY**

She can't remember the name of the place where it happened. Possibly, it never had a name. It was merely an empty space on the map, another expanse of remote Nevada where scrubland met rocky hillsides that rolled and plunged, and where the dusty track they had been hurtling along for nearly sixty miles gradually tapered into nothingness. It is here that Nick hits the brakes, spotting Brass and his officers standing guard amongst a series of flashing police lights. In the night desert, they are an island among infinite nothingness. He rolls the car to a stop, and Sara is out before the ignition is off. Her boots hit the ground with a thud, churning up a small cloud of dust which mixes with the cloud from the car carrying Grissom, Warrick and Catherine, which has stopped alongside. The dust particles glow in the piercing headlights. She glances up at the night sky as she makes her way toward Brass, but has no time to absorb its magnificence.

"What have we got?" Sara asked Brass.

"Dead John Doe," he answered. "Looks like murder. Pair of college kids found him earlier this evening."

Grissom already looks puzzled, glancing around at their isolated location.

"And what were they doing out here?"

"Boy and girl, just left home; looks like they were tasting freedom and a backseat full of vodka."

"And something else too, I'll bet," Catherine adds, exchanging an amused look with Nick.

Sara senses Catherine beside her, but that's not where her attention is. She casts her flashlight out into the wilderness. There is nothing but night-time. There is no huddle of officers around a corpse, no other beams of light for miles.

"Where's the body?" she asks.

Brass nods to the direction behind him, at what she can just make out to be a dusty walking track winding up into the rocky slopes.

"Three miles that way. Hope you brought your hiking boots."

Warrick sighs. He ducks back to the rear seat and emerges with a pair of sneakers, dropping them on the ground at his feet. The others wait for him. Sara has a faint memory of noticing that Catherine is wearing heels, but does not give it any further thought. Instead, she picks up a case of forensic material, a bottle of water, and goes to join her at the start of the track.

"Hey Nick," Brass adds.

Nick turns just in time to catch a radio that Brass has tossed to them.

"You may need that. We got no cell phone reception."

A mile later and the five of them are alone on the hilly track. It is tougher than Sara expected, the track narrow and so regrown that it is hard to follow in places, and they connect the identifiable stretches like dot-to-dot. Nick is still curious by the college kids' starlight romance, and soon asks Catherine if she has ever done it in the desert. Catherine smiles, offering a tantalising expression coupled with a mention of Eddie, but gives little away. Then Warrick is talking about a former flame of his own, reminiscing as he holds out a steadying hand to Catherine as they cross a rough and steep section of rock. They shine their flashlights carefully, watching for every shadowy rock and pebble; the drop to their right is nearly fifty feet down. Sara meanwhile falls naturally into stride with a silent Grissom, and he is the only one who is appreciating the hike. He looks up at the millions of stars in wonder, and watching him, she smiles to herself, falling in love.

Nick drifts to a stop, taking in breath.

"Damn," he says. "There's gotta be an easier way to this place."

"Yeah," Warrick says, offering a half smile. "Next time we'll have to ask him to murder near a highway."

"Just sayin' -"

"Whining," Grissom corrects calmly. Both boys fall quiet, but Grissom casts his light forward to Catherine, who is climbing over some rocks. She is practically on all fours, and gives the drop beside her a wary glance as she pauses for a moment, resting with a hand on her forensic case.

"You okay?" Sara asks.

"Yeah," Catherine responds. She carefully stands up again. "Still can't see anything ..."

"We can't be more than halfway," Sara wonders aloud.

Catherine shines her light around, and it is then that it happens, so quick it haunts Sara for days. She moves her foot to the right, but the curved rock offers no grip. Her foot slips, there is a clatter as the plastic box hits rock, and with a gasp she falls over the side.

XXX

"Catherine!"

They scramble to the verge, Sara shines her light down, and in an instant fear grips her like a vice. Catherine is sprawled at the bottom of the slope, face-down. The white writing on her CSI vest reflects Sara's beam eerily in the darkness. Not a strand of her red hair is moving.

Warrick is shouting. "Catherine!"

Terror ripples through Sara's body. "Guys, she's not moving ..."

She is not merely still - she is _dead _still. Reason abandons her. With speed that her colleagues would later comment on, she drops her equipment with a thud, grabs a small bush for leverage, and lowers herself down. It is not a sheer drop, but the slope of scrub and desert rock is precariously steep.

"Sara -"

She has moved so fast that Nick doesn't have words to finish the sentence, but the panic catches her all the same. She hears Warrick and Grissom's voices, too, but pays them no heed.

She hears Grissom emerge from his shock to give swift instructions.

"Nick, the radio -"

There is a momentary scramble. Warrick is still calling Catherine's name.

Nick is terrified, talking fast. "Brass! Man, we got a problem up here ..."

"Nick?" Brass is alerted by Nick's tone, but Nick interrupts.

"Catherine's taken a fall! She's about fifty feet over the edge. She's not movin' -"

Sara tries to block out the conversation, listening only to the sound of her own casual shoes slipping on chunks of crisp desert soil.

"Take it slow and steady, Sara. Watch your grip."

There is Brass on the radio again, something about a medivac and then a question which Nick answers.

"Sara's climbing down -"

Brass is abrupt. "Tell me you've got a rope 'round her waist."

"Uh ... could be a bit late for that."

But the slope smooths out, and Sara finds her footing. Catherine's lifeless body is illuminated by Warrick's flashlight, and she scrambles toward her.

Grissom's voice rains down from above.

"Is she breathing?"

She knows what he is asking; _Is she alive?_

It is hard to tell, and the low light doesn't help. She slips her fingers around to her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her skin is warm with life, and the pulse is faint, but present. There is blood flowing from her temple, and already the spot looks bruised and swollen.

"She's alive!" Sara calls. "Unconscious!"

She can afford a glance up, and sees the bright flashlights jiggle as three shadows start jogging. They move out of sight, and she only guess they are finding a safe route down.

"Catherine?"

She is very careful about touching her. In her mind's eye she can already imagine the carnage underneath - the fractured bones, the torn muscles, and burst veins seeping into bodily cavities. She wonders about the brain damage disguised by the bleeding temple wound. She gently takes her shoulder.

"Catherine, can you hear me?"

There is no reply. She knows to move her into the recovery position, and also that she can't do it alone. The next minute is long while she waits for the others. Suddenly the world is tiny, and the landscape silent all the way to the horizon.

At last they catch up, all three sprinting the last short distance. Warrick skids to a stop in the dust, seizing Catherine's bare arm. She has never seen Grissom's eyes so full of such pure fear.

"Damn," Warrick says. "Catherine ..."

"We gotta move her on her side," Sara orders quickly, cutting off Nick and Grissom before they can speak. "Recovery position."

They help her, carefully keeping her steady until Catherine is facing her. Grissom sheds his jacket and places it under her head as a pillow. He shines his light on her head wound, and then carefully picks through her hair, checking for skull damage. Nick has grasped her pulse.

Brass is still on the radio. "Nick, we've got a chopper on the way, and a paramedic on the line. I'm gonna relay you instructions."

"She's unconscious," Nick replies. "Pulse is faint and irregular, but she's breathin'. She's bleedin' from the temple, got a head injury at the least ..."

As he talks, Grissom continues checking Catherine. Finding no obvious further damage to her skull, he shines the light over her limbs. They all appear in the correct position, but Sara is in no way reassured. Her own thoughts are on internal injuries. She knows no one falls that distance and comes out unscathed. The vice on her sanity grips her tighter, as she realises they are a long way from help. Too far.

Nick is still talking to Brass. "Listen, we got a first aid kit in the back of the car. If any of your boys are feelin' fit, we could sure use it up here."

"It's on the way," Brass responds. "Paramedics want you to time how long she's unconscious, and search for any major bleeding."

Grissom points to her. "Sara, you -"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Catherine is moving. She opens her mouth a little, wracked with silent pain.

"Catherine?" Sara asks.

She closes her mouth again, but her entire body tenses as if as a switch has been flicked. Her breathing immediately changes; it is shallow and pained.

"Catherine?"

Her eyes slowly open. Her expression is uncomprehending, distant and confused.

"Hey ..." Warrick coos. "You all right?"

"Catherine?" Grissom says. He is behind her, his hand is light on her hip. "You've had a fall, Catherine."

"You with us?" Nick asks.

Sara looks to Warrick, nods to his watch.

"Nearly four minutes," he answers.

She glances up at the sky, even though she knows it is far too early, and the helicopter has probably only just taken off from some distant launchpad. The sight of an empty starry sky has never been so terrifying. Catherine's pained and unfocused eyes pass through her, and Sara chokes back her fear into reassurance.

"You're gonna be fine, Catherine," Sara tells her. "We've got help on the way."

She looks disoriented, and Sara watches as she tries to piece together memories she doesn't have.

"Can you move?" Grissom asks.

Slowly Catherine lifts the hand that Nick had been holding. She looks stunned as she raises it subconsciously to her head. Sara gently catches it before her fingertips can touch the ebbing blood.

"You hit your head," Sara provides. "Do you remember?"

Catherine does not answer.

"Can you talk?" Grissom asks.

"Just say somethin'," Nick pleads. "Anything at all."

Her eyes focus, narrowing in on Sara, and then she winces, closing them again.

"I'm gonna puke," she says.

Then, promptly, she does - just managing to turn her head and vomiting messily into the dust beside her. Some of it catches the edges of Grissom's donated jacket, and a spatter flecks the knee of Sara's pants where she kneels.

"I guess I'll settle for that," Nick says, smiling.

But Sara is not amused, and her fear ups another notch. Her mind rifles through mental lists of lethal injuries that the vomiting may mask. Catherine's eyes are tight closed, she is in obvious pain. The hand that had grasped her head lowers to her rib cage.

"Catherine?" Grissom prompts.

"You're gonna be fine, Cath," Warrick reassures. "Just lie still."

"Catherine," Sara says gently. "Does your head hurt? Can you see?"

"Got an anvil ... banging against my skull ..."

She gasps the words as her hand holds her ribs. She holds her body rigidly still. This time it is Warrick glancing desperately at the sky.

"You're holding your rib cage," Grissom observes. "Have you fractured a rib?"

"Yeah," she gasps.

"Okay, Catherine," Grissom tells her, "just try not to move. Sara's gonna take a look, okay? But first tell me, are you hurt anywhere else? Your spine?"

"Fine," she gasps.

"Your abdomen?" Grissom asks. "Are you hurting internally?"

She does not reply, her eyes slipping closed again. The pain in her head is commanding all her attention, and she can't yet think about distant extremities.

"Keep talking to us Catherine," Sara says calmly. "Stay with us."

"I don't feel great," she murmurs.

"Hang in there, Cath," Warrick says bracingly.

"Just take one breath at a time, okay?" Nick adds. "We're gonna have help here real soon."

He is lying, and Sara works hard to keep her face confident.

"Cath, we're gonna step away for a moment while Sara looks you over. We'll just be a few feet behind you, all right?"

She answers painfully. "Right."

The three men stand. Grissom opens his mouth to give instructions, but she cuts him off.

"I got it," she says.

Despite her expired first aid certificate, she knows what she is looking for, just as she knows their ability to help is limited. They cannot stop any internal bleeding, cannot take the pain away from fractured bones, and their only game is to keep her calm until the cavalry arrive.

Grissom, Warrick and Nick withdraw to a short distance away, offering Catherine a moment of privacy. Sara sees Grissom take the radio and talk into it, out of earshot. She realises this is his real motive, and Catherine's privacy a decoy.

"Let's take a look at that rib," Sara says.

Catherine still has her eyes closed. She holds her head with one hand, as though wishing away the skull-busting pain. Sara starts with her CSI vest, unzipping it, and then gently takes the hem of her sleeveless top. She lifts it away from her skin and draws it carefully up until it is level with her black lace bra. She spots bruises already forming on Catherine's stomach, and a few minor scratches from the tumble down. Just as worrying are her ribs. Catherine is thin enough that she can see the deformity through her skin, but is immensely grateful that her skin is not broken. She does not have to worry about air sweeping directly into her chest.

"The skin's not broken. You'll be fine as long as you stay still."

She does not mention the possibility of a lung puncture, just as she does not voice her rampaging concern over her bleeding head injury. Instead, she hopes to rule out internal bleeding, and presses down gently on Catherine's flat stomach.

"Do you feel any tenderness? Any pain?"

Catherine, however, does not answer. She is trying vainly to hold her laden vest away from her fractured ribs.

Her pained eyes meet Sara's. "Can you -"

"I got it," Sara says quickly. "Just stay still."

For a moment she considers the problem, but taking off the vest would involve Catherine getting up, and with her head injury this is not an option. She reaches into her own vest and withdraws a pair of small metal scissors - a forensic essential - and gently reaches for the shoulders of the vest, cutting through the material.

"Hold still," she says gently.

Catherine is obediently still, not caring that her personalised vest is cut to ribbons. Sara manages to cut it away, and lays the pieces aside. Catherine immediately breathes easier, looking relieved, but her hand is already moving for the belt on her pants, seeking to loosen the pressure.

"I got it," Sara repeats.

She unclasps the belt, placing it with the vest. Then on instinct she follows it with other things: her holstered gun, pocket contents, and for good measure, undoes the button on her pants and lowers the zip an inch.

"Thanks," Catherine says.

Even while dying, she is polite.

She pulls down her top again to cover her as the men return. Grissom resumes his position behind her. His eyes are again narrowed on her bleeding temple. Sara wants to ask what the verdict is over the radio, but knows they can't talk about the dire circumstances in front of Catherine.

"How's the pain?" he asks.

"It's like childbirth at the wrong end," Catherine murmurs. "One giant contraction."

This makes him smile - but only briefly.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She tries to remember, but after a moment concedes defeat, unable to think through the intense pain.

"I don't know. Maybe a car."

Sara casts a worried look to Grissom, and he catches it. Her amnesia period is nearly half an hour, and they are not looking at a mild concussion. Nick, however, keeps her calm.

"A car's good," he says encouragingly.

Grissom, however, is not done. "Do you know where you are?"

"Nowhere," she replies flatly.

"You know you're right," Warrick agrees smoothly. "That's what we've been saying to Griss for the last two hours."

Again, Sara chooses to say nothing, but sees her thoughts mirrored in grave concern on Grissom's face. Her answer is vague and imprecise - she has no idea where they are, no recollection of ever leaving the car.

Her fears are justified when Catherine turns again, nausea gripping her. She moans, then swears.

"You vomit if you need to Catherine," Sara says gently, squeezing her arm. "It's okay."

She does - several times. With each heave her rib cage lurches, and she pants in agony. They all have steadying hands on her, but it is excruciating to watch. Grissom has his light shining on the discharge, and Sara knows he is looking for blood. She is almost relieved when she hears sprinting footsteps thumping in the dirt, and spots a young rookie police officer with a first aid kit in his arms.

"Where the hell were you?" Warrick accuses. "You come via Utah?"

The kid pants for breath, giving the kit to Sara and then resting with his hands on his knees.

Grissom shoots Warrick a sharp look, but Sara wastes no time. She throws open the clasp on the kit and exposes the supply of white first aid items glowing in the torchlight. In the wilderness, it is still not much, but better than nothing.

The kid is still catching his breath. "Brass says ... 45 minutes for the chopper ..."

"Jesus Christ," Catherine groans.

"Can you sit over there, please?" Grissom says sharply, pointing to a rock over ten feet away.

The kid does not realise that in telling her he has only made the situation even more precarious. And as if by omen, she begins to vomit again.

XXX

They fill another five minutes applying first aid, and then the agonising wait begins. Time is measured by the lone sound Catherine's breathing - the pained, shallow breaths are raspy, and with each one their confidence withers further. Sara is holding her hand, and from this knows that she is still conscious, even though her eyes have long closed. She is gripping Sara's hand like a life buoy. Sara holds it tight - she will not let her slip away.

Nick is still at Catherine's right ankle, where he has been stationed for the last half hour. It is a hideous sprain, red and swollen, and he keeps a wet bandage wrapped around it as a cold compress. Every five minutes he wets it again, and it seems only this small task that is keeping him tethered.

Under the space blanket which is keeping her from going into shock, the pants of her right leg are cut to the knee. Grissom had noticed quite fast that she was not moving the leg, and that in addition to the sprained ankle she had a jarred knee. The pathology, however, is unknown, and their ability to relieve her pain, non-existent. Instead they ride it with her, and after the noise of Catherine's breathing becomes too much to bear, Warrick begins talking aimlessly. His soothing voice is almost like a lullaby in the night. He tells her not to worry, that she is going to be fine. Every few minutes he reassures her that help is not too far away, that the doctors will fix everything in no time, and she will soon be resting with Lindsay beside her.

Whenever he mentions Lindsay, there is a slight change in the pressure on Sara's hand, Catherine's fingers momentarily gripping her harder. Sara, for her part, is entirely focused on her pulse and respiration. In her head she recites the procedure for CPR, on edge to conduct it as soon as necessary. She also does not fail to recognise that her three companions have glistening eyes - though she is not sure if the effect is a trick of the night. Both Grissom and Nick are dead silent. Sara also has no idea what to say, and leaves it to Warrick.

The wait - the deatch watch - is more shattering than she ever imagined it could be, until it is abruptly over. A helicopter search light appears in the distance, the rumbling motor piercing the desert silence. And suddenly the rookie they had forgotten about is on his feet, arms in the air to wave it down. Grissom joins him, and within seconds uniformed paramedics are jogging across with a metal stretcher and braces.

Grissom reels off her condition, fast and panicked.

"She's got a head injury, unconscious for nearly four minutes with an anmesia period of at least 30 minutes prior to the accident. She has multiple fractured ribs on the right, abdominal bruising, and injuries to her right knee and ankle."

Sara, Nick and Warrick make way for the medics, who swoop down and waste no time in moving her to a stretcher. They snap on a neck brace and oxygen mask.

"Miss ...?"

"Catherine Willows," Sara supplies.

"Catherine, can you hear me?"

The paramedic is shining a light into her eyes, assessing her degree of consciousness. Her eyes move toward him, but do not focus. They slip closed again. Her skin is deathly pale, and now the space blanket is removed, Sara can see her trembling. She is in shock.

Then there are more noises, a herd of jogging feet as they are joined by Brass and his crew. Brass runs level with the medics as they run her stretcher to the helicopter. Sara cannot even move. She is rooted to the spot as she watches the doors on the helicopter slam shut. Already they are taking off. The chopper lifts, and then is making its way back to the horizon, back to Las Vegas.

Suddenly there is silence again. Sara can barely move. She manages to lift her eyes to Nick's, to Warrick's, and then to Grissom's. Their glistening eyes are not a trick of the light, though she knows hers must be the same.

"Hey," Brass says, looking around at them. "You all okay?"

None of them manage to answer. Warrick falls wearily back into a crouching position, sweeps a hand back through his hair. Nick shakes his head and looks away. Sara stares.

"Sara?" Brass asks.

Silence.

"You know she's gonna be fine," he says reassuringly. "She's in the best hands. You guys did a great job."

Sara nods wearily, really just to remove his attention from her. She feels a police jacket being wrapped around her shoulders.

"I've been in touch with Ecklie. He's sending out some CSIs from days to cover the scene. You guys can head on to the hospital."

Grissom does not answer, but moves to the small pile of Catherine's discarded possessions: her shredded vest, gun, and the offending heels. Sara automatically moves to help him. Nick takes the space blanket.

"We'll take care of that," Brass says, taking it from him. He passes it to his junior, and then kindly pats Nick on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you all back."

XXX

In the end, Brass seems to decide that they are in no state to drive. He leaves his second-in-charge in command of the scene, and drives the four of them himself back to Las Vegas. As they reach the main highway, the sun is creeping over the horizon in a golden glow that basks the desert sand, and when they reach the city streets, rush hour is in full force. The world is starting another morning as usual, unaware that anything has happened. Half an hour later they are in camped on lumpy chairs in a small waiting room. They are still wearing their vests, and these attract looks from both the staff and the passing public. But they ignore them.

"She'll be fine," Brass says, sitting them all down. In their mute states he has taken charge. "She's a tough one."

"Been two hours, man," Nick complains, glancing in vain at the empty doorway. "You'd think they'd have news."

"It'll be a while, Nick," Grissom points out. He is slumped in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They'll be doing investigations. Scans, surgery ..."

They try not to think about how serious it may be. But Warrick takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Sara looks toward a small television high in the corner, searching for a distraction in the morning news update.

She narrows her eyes as the LVPD logo comes onto the backdrop. "Wait, guys ..."

"... In other news Crime Scene Investigators assigned to last night's gruesome John Doe discovery in remote Nevada are being hailed as heroes after an accident sent one of their own tumbling down the side of a perilous cliff. The investigator's co-workers scaled down the cliff-face without protection and stayed with their critically injured colleague for an hour until medical aid arrived. The investigator is reportedly in a serious condition in hospital, but there is no word yet on what caused the accident."

Nick watches in disbelief. "Must've been tuned into our frequency."

"Hailed as heroes?" Sara repeats. "By who?"

"But that's something else you should know," Brass says. "Ecklie's already asking questions. Sooner or later they're gonna be directed at you."

"That's the least of our problems now," Grissom points out. "For now let's just be sure she's all right."

It is nearly another two hours before they have news. Lindsay and her grandmother join them, and they wait, the atmosphere strained, until at last a doctor enters the room. His eyes recognise their uniforms, pass over Lindsay's pale face, and then he smiles.

"She's going to be fine."

A wave of relief sweeps the room. Sara finds herself getting to her feet.

"The head injury?" she asks.

"Looked worse than it turned out to be," he answers. "She has a severe concussion, but we can't find any distinct damage."

"Her other injuries?" Warrick asks.

"Three fractured ribs, multiple contusions and abrasions, sprained wrist, ankle and knee, but no permanent damage. She'll be off work for six weeks, but she should make a full recovery."

"No internal injuries?" Grissom queries.

"No bleeding," he confirms.

Grissom looks puzzled. "She was pale and in pain. She went into shock ..."

"Shock has several causes," the doctor says kindly. "Not all of them are physical."

Sara nods, her mind reeling back to Catherine's desperate grip of her hand. The image stays with her.

"Can we see her?" Catherine's mother asks.

"Of course," the doctor replies. "But I warn you she's heavily medicated."

The doctor is open to Catherine's family staying with her, but lets them, her work colleagues, stay only a minute - just enough to reassure themselves. He stands watch at the door as they enter. Somehow, Sara expected to find her sitting up in bed and smiling, but she is not. She seems half asleep, her multiple cuts bandaged, mentally drifting on a wave of painkillers. They make way for Lindsay and her grandmother, who gently takes Catherine's hand. Catherine opens one eye at the touch.

"Mom ..."

"You're gonna be fine, honey," her mother tells her. "It's going to be fine now."

And Catherine manages the briefest nod before she falls exhausted back to sleep. Warrick places the group's flowers on the bedside table, and sixty seconds later they tiptoe out again. It will be hours before she wakes.

XXX

Ecklie's questions arrive faster than expected. Only two hours later they are summoned to his office and waved into old wooden chairs. He closes his office door with a sharp click. It sounds like the lock on a jail cell. Sara feels suddenly claustrophobic. He settles in his leather chair and considers them a moment, a pen balanced between his fingers, a blank sheet of paper ready. She can read his exasperation. She is beyond caring.

"I have the media on the phone," he begins. "And I have the DA on the line demanding a report. Tell me what happened."

Grissom shrugs; he looks weary. "She slipped, Conrad."

"_How_?" he demands.

He stares Grissom down, moves quickly to Warrick.

"It was a bad track," Warrick offers. "Rough and rocky, low light, heels didn't have much grip."

"Heels?"

He sits up straight, pen rigid.

"You're telling me you had a three mile trek to the crime scene, in the dark, over 'rough and rocky' ground, and she was wearing high heels?"

"Got it," Sara says swiftly.

Grissom passes her a sidelong look, but she can see where this is going, and she is already sick of his bullshit. Ecklie looks hard at her, but she stares him level.

He turns his attention back to Grissom.

"Did it cross your mind to check your team had adequate footwear before setting out?"

"It was my oversight," Grissom admits. "I accept responsibility for it."

The admission deflects him for a moment. He scribbles something on the paper, and turns his attention back to Sara.

"All right, she slipped," he summarises. "Take me from there."

"I climbed down the slope," Sara states.

For a second he strains to control himself. "_Sidle_, our policy clearly states -"

"I know what our policy states," she says bluntly.

"Then why?" he asks.

He spreads his hands, inviting an answer, but it comes softly from Nick.

"We thought she was dead, Ecklie."

But Ecklie ignores him. His eyes are still digging into Sara. But the night's events are still reeling within her, and she feels her temper snap.

"You want to know why?"

"Any injury to a CSI is the subject of an investigation," he says shortly. "We need to know why if we're going to prevent this from happening again."

She raises an eyebrow. "I think you just need a scapegoat."

He throws out a hand. "_Sidle _-"

She cuts him off as she stands up.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to this. 'Cause if you want to know _why _I climbed down that slope, I can tell you. I climbed down because my friend and colleague was lying motionless and potentially dying at the bottom of that cliff. And being an obviously flawed human being, I dared to rate her life above your bureaucracy. And I wasn't going to stand there and watch her die simply because I didn't have several thousand dollars of abseiling equipment lying handy in my back pocket. So if you need someone to pin this on, then by all means go right ahead. But I won't regret a single thing that I did."

There is a pause. She practically sees the veins throbbing in his forehead.

"So if you'll excuse me," she finishes.

She reaches for the door handle, swings it open, and leaves.

XXX

It takes Grissom longer than she expects to catch up with her. By the time he does, she is well settled on a hard wooden seat outside in a smoker's alcove. The sun's rays are drifting through the wafts of secondhand smoke from users nearby, and stubs litter the ground like confetti. But it is quiet, and she watches the cars go by with a feeling of morose distance.

"There you are," he states calmly, spotting her corner. "I was looking for you."

He looks as if he has been searching a while, but she does not meet his eyes. She stares resolutely ahead, no longer caring about anything at all.

"Am I out?" she asks.

"Outside," he clarifies, taking a seat beside her.

A few feet away some smokers are eyeing them. It is evident that news of the accident has travelled fast. But she is grateful they offer them space, and ask no questions.

"I had a talk with Ecklie," he confesses. "You're being cautioned on the application and use of safety equipment, it'll go on your record, but there'll be no permanent consequences."

"That's generous."

"There's more. When Catherine returns we'll be attending a teamwork seminar, in depth first aid training, and arrangements have been made for counselling this afternoon."

She looks up. "Counselling?"

He gives her a concerned look, his eyes are both gentle and matter-of-fact. "I requested it. I think it's warranted."

"I will admit to feeling pissed off, but I don't need therapy."

"It's just a debriefing. We're all going."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not, Sara. No one is. You're hanging by a thread, Nick's just walked out, and Warrick won't settle to anything. And I think that's natural. We were all scared, Sara. When these things happen, perspectives change. The world jolts, and it can take some time to right itself. You realise that what you think matters no longer does, the fragility of human life, of our friends and ourselves ... the fact that she survived doesn't change that."

She knows he is right, and with his kindness some of her anger slips away. It is true the world feels unreal, unbelievable that the sun can rise, the workforce clock on, and the world revolve as usual. She cannot shake the feeling of Catherine's death-like grip on her hand, the raspy sound of her breathing, alone in the desert. She knows Catherine's gasp as he fell, the scraping of the plastic case on the rock, will haunt her dreams.

"I was scared," she admits softly. "Terrified."

"Then we need to talk that out," he agrees. "Let it all out. Then we can deal with this. When Catherine comes back to work we can help her, become a stronger team, and all move on."

She nods.

"Do you have a change of clothes?" he asks.

She draws a blank. "Huh?"

"Your pants," he indicates. He points to her left knee, the material of which is caked with Catherine's dried vomit. He eyes her closely. "Did you realise?"

"Yeah, I -" Then the lie escapes her. "No."

"Change," he says, helping her to her feet. "I'm going to go find Nick."

XXX

The debriefing is not as painful as she had feared. The four of them meet in a private room with a psychologist contracted to the LVPD, and proceed through the night's events in excruciating detail. They talk about their fear, how still Catherine was, the impossible miracle that she is all right. The psychologist reassures them that what they feel is normal. She gives them some handouts on dealing with traumatic situations, and leaves them her card if they need any further sessions. But after an hour of expressing her feelings with Grissom, Nick and Warrick, and in fresh clothes, Sara begins to feel better - enough to go home for a few hours of afternoon sleep.

When she drops back to the hospital, it is 8:00pm, the last hour for visiting. She knows that by this hour Lindsay and her grandmother will have gone home, and is glad when she enters the room to find Catherine propped up on pillows surrounded by a wall of flowers. She looks pale without her makeup, but the painkillers must be working, as she spots Sara straightaway.

"Hey," she greets. "It's the hero of the day."

Sara takes the offered spot on the edge of the mattress. There are tubes and an IV sticking out of Catherine's arm, various monitors still reading her condition, and she notices a bandages on her temple, wrist and ankle. In spite of this the hospital is quiet, and outside the window the sun is setting.

"How are you feeling?" Sara asks.

"Drugged to the gills," she admits. "But better."

"I'm glad. You certainly look better."

"Most of it's only bruises. They'll heal."

There is a brief pause. Catherine is studying her, and Sara gets the feeling that she is not the first one to visit, or to fill her in. She hesitates, not knowing where to start.

"Gil was here earlier," Catherine starts. "We talked a while."

"Yeah."

Sara nods. She is not quite sure what to say.

"Sara -"

"It's fine," she interrupts. "I mean, it was a rough night, but I'm just glad you're okay."

Again, Catherine observes her. Her eyes are penetrating, and Sara casts her eyes around for a change of subject. She spots an impressive bouquet of flowers, a card signed "Sam". Catherine gets in first, tapping her gently on the wrist.

"Look, I gotta say something. I want to say it now before I miss my chance."

Sara waits, she is listening. She wonders if a reprimand is coming.

"Don't let Ecklie get to you. The way Gil tells it you were incredible. He certainly rated you high for keeping cool in a crisis."

"I wasn't so cool in Ecklie's office," she confesses. "The way he talks -"

She breaks off, as frustration rises within her again. Catherine shifts slightly; her expression is dismissive.

"Sara, you know it's all just politics at Ecklie's level. Right and wrong don't come into it. On the news you're a hero. That's all you need to worry about."

"I won't accept bureaucratic policy over principle," Sara states flatly. "You were badly hurt, Catherine. And what I can't believe, is that I am receiving an official caution for coming to your aid."

"All I can say is that I'm glad you did."

Sara nods. She is thankful for the gratitude, even though it does not make things right.

"Look," Catherine says, taking her hand. "Ecklie has issues. But don't let them become yours. The truth is, sometimes shit just happens. Don't throw your job in over it, leave your life or your friends. You need it too much. We all do."

There is a moment of silence. In the distance a call is put over the speakers.

"And you?" Sara asks. "How are you?"

"I'll be fine," Catherine says, but her expression is thoughtful. "It's strange - joining the police force you expect danger every day. You never expect it to come in the desert by your own hand. And not to remember anything ..."

She shakes her head, and Sara understands. There is nothing more unnerving than being robbed of your own memory, having visitors show up at your hospital bed for an accident of which you have no recollection.

"I can fill you in," Sara offers. "Unless Grissom already has."

She relaxes back against her pillows. "Mostly we talked about work."

Sara nods; that figures.

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything since we arrived at the crime scene. It's all one long blank."

Sara smiles and gently squeezes her hand. For the next half hour she talks, offering her own memories to Catherine, answering her questions, and filling in the blanks until visiting hours are over and the window fills with the night lights of the city outside.

XXX

The doctor recommends Catherine stay off work for six weeks, but she reports for duty in four. They are gathered around Grissom's desk, doing the final debriefing on a case when they spot her in the doorway.

"Hey!" Sara greets, and her word is echoed by Warrick.

"Welcome back," Nick chimes.

She smiles and enters the room, dropping her handbag onto a side table and limping to the desk. Despite her bad leg, and that she moves while trailing her hand along the table for support, she looks better than in all Sara's previous visits. Her head wound has healed, her wrist is functional, but most importantly, her spirits look high.

"I got tired of sitting at home," Catherine states, accepting Warrick's hug with a smile. "Thought I'd come see if I could help."

Grissom raises an eyebrow, watching her limp.

Nick gets up to offer her his chair.

"Six weeks, Catherine," Grissom says firmly. "I can't let you into the field without a doctor's clearance. Ecklie will have my hide."

Catherine casts her eyes around the detritus of Grissom's desk.

"Well I can do lab work, right? Help clear a few things?"

"Take the time off," Warrick says. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

But Catherine ignores this, and her eyes trail over the detritus layered upon Grissom's desk. The in-tray is stacked four inches high.

"We got paperwork," Sara suggests.

She expects her to object, but Catherine merely smiles and holds out a hand to Grissom. He passes her the topmost paper.

"Shoe policy?" she reads.

"Our new internal policy on appropriate field footwear," Grissom recites. "It needs drafting."

Warrick grins. "No one more qualified to head that one up."

She shares a look with him, and Sara can see she has missed the guys' company.

"Right," she says, and moves to get up. She grabs the edge of the desk for support, and Sara and Nick both reach to steady her. "I guess I'll get started."

XXX

The days and shifts pass in a flurry of cases and reports, and Catherine spends two whole weeks clearing Grissom's in-tray. Grissom checks in on her when he passes, but she spends most of her time stationed at her desk. It is Sara who finds the time to keep an eye on her, and though Catherine maintains a cheerful front when anyone is watching her, Sara sees what they don't. Several times she notices her swallowing medication, or pausing to hold her head, and twice she stumbles upon her in the ladies', vomiting her stomach into the toilet bowl. She stays her with her, and Catherine appears to appreciate the support. She does not tell Grissom.

She is so keen on keeping up appearances that Sara is not surprised when she sails into their meeting room one night at the start of shift, sitting down to hear the allocation of cases. Nick and Warrick greet her with smiles. Sara hides her concern.

"I thought you're on paperwork?" Warrick asks.

"If I spend any more time driving a desk it's going to be straight into a psych ward."

Nick grins and pulls out a chair for her. "Hope you brought a note for the teacher."

She holds up a folded piece of paper. "Got it right here."

It is at that moment that Grissom strides in, glasses on and hand full of paper. He stops short when he sees Catherine. Before he can question her presence, she passes him the letter. For the moment he does not unfold it, and instead passes a blue paper to Nick.

"Nick, Warrick, you got a 419."

"We're on it," Nick replies, standing up again. Warrick touches Catherine on the shoulder, and the two of them depart.

Grissom lowers his eyes to Catherine.

"Gil, I'm fine," she tells him.

He opens the paper and briefly reads the contents. He does not look convinced.

"Are you still on medication?" he asks.

"No," she answers.

Sara glances behind her, but the three of them are alone. She can be honest.

"Are you sure?" she asks. She passes her a discrete glance. She knows she is lying.

"Just headache pills," Catherine replies. "It's normal."

"Post-concussional syndrome?" Grissom asks. "Catherine, if you're suffering that, any interpretation of evidence or report you make is going to be called into question on the stand."

There is a brief and uncomfortable silence. Catherine looks disappointed at this news, and her mouth opens to argue. Grissom, however, sighs and sits down. He holds out a hand.

"Let me see the box."

She stares at him a moment, before eventually giving in. She reaches into her handbag and passes him a box of prescription pills. He flicks it over to read the side-effects on the back.

"It's fine," she says. "It's not that bad."

"You fell fifty feet and had a head injury, Catherine. If I let you back and something happens, it's going to be _my _head on the chopping block."

"That won't happen," she says firmly.

He studies her for a long moment, and then looks to Sara. Sara nods to him - she can read the disappointment and loss of dignity in Catherine's eyes. She did not ask for this injury, did not once complain, and is doing the best she can to overcome the consequences.

"All right," he concedes. "But you're with me or Sara until further notice, and you carry the meds with you."

"I can do that," she says, looking relieved. "Thanks."

"Thank me by recovering, Catherine," he says. "And don't tell Ecklie."

XXX

She is true to her word, and spends her cases partnered with either Grissom or Sara. It is not long before Nick and Warrick notice the pattern, but they elect not to comment, understanding without needing explanation. For the most part, the system is fine. Headaches plague her, though she tries hard not to let on. Nevertheless whenever they are alone, she slips another pill between her lips, or emits a long sigh which betrays her pain. Sara gives her what support she can, never commenting when they have company, and sitting with her when they are alone.

Ten days later, by coincidence, they find themselves driving along the same highway which harbours the dirt road turn-off to the site of the accident. It is in the early hours of the morning, still an hour or two from sunrise, and Grissom is at the wheel as they drive back from a case. Sara is in the back seat, having offered Catherine the front so she could stretch her leg.

Suddenly Catherine rubs her forehead.

"Catherine?" Grissom prompts.

She opens her eyes and fishes around inside her jacket for the box of pills.

"You okay?" Sara checks.

"Fine," she murmurs.

But her voice is faint, and this is all Grissom needs. He steers the car to the side of the road, parking with two wheels in the dry grass. Catherine opens her door and swings her legs out, letting the cool night air flow into the car. She runs a hand through her hair.

Sara has spent enough hours with her now to recognise this pale look, and she gets out, moving around to check on her. Grissom passes her a bottle of water.

"You all right?" Sara asks.

"A little dizzy."

She pushes herself up, accepting Sara's helping hand, and moves a few feet to a fenceline. She takes a post in her hand for balance, glances up at the sky as though trying to stifle something unpleasant, but then leans over and vomits into the grass.

Sara is not surprised, having experienced this several times. She waits till she is done and then passes her the water to rinse her mouth. A pair of headlights suddenly illuminate them as a car pulls in behind. It is Brass, and he gets out with a look of concern.

"You all right?" he asks, striding over.

"I'm fine!" Catherine calls, pushing confidence into her voice.

"Yeah, and I'm Peter Pan," Brass replies calmly.

He is not fazed, merely concerned.

"Here, sit down," he indicates, helping her back to sit in the car.

Catherine gulps some water. Grissom pulls out a clean handerchief, splashes water on it and passes it to her to sponge the heat from her forehead.

Brass turns to look at Grissom. "You didn't tell anyone she's still vomiting."

"It's fine, Jim," Grissom says. "We're taking care of it."

"She's fine," Sara insists.

Brass looks doubtful. He addresses Catherine.

"And if you're sick on a scene? Vomit or faint near the evidence?"

Catherine holds up a hand, fending off his comments.

"It's fine. It's just a one-off."

He considers her a moment, then sighs, resigned.

"Whatever you say. But look, I've got Ecklie only five minutes behind me. He sees this, he'll be kicking all your behinds."

With these words, he departs. Sara watches him pull back out onto the highway.

"We'd better get going," Catherine suggests.

They get back in the car, and Grissom resumes driving. Catherine is relaxing in her seat, but her head is turned to look out the window at the endless expanse of desert, the very landscape responsible for the accident she still cannot recall.

Grissom notices her absent-minded staring.

"I can make a left," he offers.

"It's fine," Catherine says.

But in another mile he makes the left, and no one protests.

XXX

The sunrise is incredible over the desert hills. The sky glows in red brilliance as they stand atop the walking track near where Catherine fell. Sara puts on her sunglasses, and finds herself subconsciously holding an arm out, ready to catch her. Catherine's leg is still sore, but she has managed the hike at her own relaxed pace. And this time, she wears sneakers.

It is hard to know what she thinking as she glances over the landscape. In daylight, it does not look threatening, but beautiful. She stares out for a long time.

"Is it coming back?" Grissom asks.

"Yeah," Catherine admits. She takes a seat on a rock. "Parts of it."

She gives Sara a look, and Sara instinctively understands which terrifying parts she is referring to. She sits next to her on the rock, and after a moment Grissom joins them.

"About what Brass said," Sara says. "Don't push yourself before you're ready. No one has to know. We can help you for as long as you need."

"You already have," Catherine says. She briefly touches Sara's knee. "More than I can thank you for."

"We're a team, Catherine," Grissom says. "We look out for each other."

"We start that teamwork seminar next week," Sara recalls. She is gazing out at the sunrise, letting it warm her skin.

"If you ask me, you don't need it," Catherine responds. "We all had it that night out here. There's no better teamwork or trust than that."

They are silent for a moment, absorbing the view.

"Let us know when you're ready," Grissom says softly.

"Actually, I feel hungry. What do you say we find some breakfast?"

"I'm game," Grissom agrees.

Sara smiles and stands with her colleagues, ready to head back down the walking track, to their car, to the highway, and back to Vegas. As they head down the path Catherine takes her box of medication, and tosses it over the cliff's edge. They will not be coming back.

XXX

* * *

_I've never written CSI before, so I hope I've done all right, and that someone perhaps enjoyed this. Anna._


End file.
